by Lynn Kurland
“It’s a smiley face.”
“It’s a smirky face. There’s a difference. I think he suspects I may have caused you grief.”
“You’re paying handsomely for the privilege.”
“Happily,” he said, quite happily. “Now, hand me a page from your sketchbook and a pencil, if you would, and let’s see who draws the better rose.” He shot her a look. “Unless you’re afraid.”
She wasn’t smiling. “I’m always afraid.”
He felt his smile fade. “And that, Samantha Drummond, is something you should rethink. You outlasted thugs, braved Elizabethan England, and kept me from dying—”
“Sunny kept you from dying.”
“You kept me from drowning in drool,” he said dryly. “And you also held my nose while she poured her foul brew down my throat. Just think about that. I could have bitten your fingers off.”
“You were supposed to be unconscious.”
“That damned stuff she makes could leave a corpse sitting up in protest,” he grumbled, then he shot her a smile. “Don’t be afraid anymore. You have buckets of money in the bank and your whole life ahead of you. What have you to be afraid of?”
She took a deep breath. “I am afraid,” she said slowly, “that I won’t be good at what I really want to do.”
It was amazing, he thought, how it was possible to be sitting in a lovely garden on a not-uncomfortable bench and feel as if one had just been kicked in the stomach by an enthusiastic young stallion. Goat, horse, yob: he wasn’t sure what species had almost knocked him off his perch. He supposed it didn’t matter. All he knew was that he understood how she felt. He had faced that fear with all the bravado of a young man and . . .
Well, not even a matched set of wild horses would induce him to discuss the details.
“I am not the one to give advice,” he said grimly, “but I don’t think art has to be perfect. We could try something easier than roses. Look, there are a few topiaries over there. I think I might manage the one that looks like a hedge.”
“That is a hedge.”
“Fancy that.”
She looked at him. “You’re nuts.”
“Quite probably,” he agreed. “Let’s go examine the fauna more closely and see what we can manage of it.”
She blinked rapidly a time or two, then nodded. She put the paper back into the envelope and the envelope back into her bag. Derrick supposed he wouldn’t need to thank the earl, but he likely would drop him a note later, because he had decent manners in spite of himself. The man had been very generous. He could have called it good at half that and simply counted it as Derrick’s fee.
It was, he had to admit, somewhat reassuring to know there was still some good to be found in the world.
Chapter 17
Samantha waited until the car had driven away before she looked at Derrick. He was standing next to her at the station, holding on to her suitcase. He smiled.
“Well, Miss Heiress, what are you going to do now?”
She wasn’t sure why she felt so uncomfortable. She’d had a lovely day the day before, full of so many unexpected things. She wasn’t sure what she’d been more surprised by: money she honestly didn’t deserve or the camera Derrick had popped into York to purchase for her while she’d been ostensibly taking a nap in her room.
In case the scenery goes by too fast to sketch it had been his only comment, delivered with a small smile.
All of which left her where she was at present: at the train station with money in the bank and her life stretching out before her, and finding it ridiculous that she was disappointed that that life wasn’t going to include the man standing there in front of her.
She didn’t particularly like him, as it happened. Sure, he was tall, dark, and unfortunately quite handsome, but he was also bossy and able to hack into her accounts without exerting himself. She was just sure if she had anything to do with him it would spell a serious lack of privacy and autonomy for her.
Then again, she didn’t have much with her parents, either, so maybe it wouldn’t have been as much trouble as she feared.
“Samantha?”
She blinked, then realized she’d been staring at him without speaking. “Ah, what I’m going to do. Well, I’d planned on being at the airport tomorrow.”
“Your first-class ticket is open-ended. You could stay, if you liked.”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure I could. My visa is, well, I don’t know what it is. I think it’s a work visa.”
“We can change that.”
She laughed a little, feeling slightly breathless. “You’re handy.”
“You have no idea.”
“Actually, I think I do.”
“Then let’s go fix a couple of things.”
She took a deep breath, then nodded and walked with him until they found an empty bench inside the station. She noticed for the first time that Derrick hadn’t just sat down like a normal guy. He glanced around, considered, then sat, but not in a way that drew attention to himself. She sat down next to him, then looked around casually, just to see if she could see what he saw.
She saw security cameras, a couple of people she suspected were station security, and . . . well, not much else. She frowned.
“I don’t see any bad guys.”
“Neither do I,” he said, “though I hadn’t really expected to.” He lifted his eyebrows briefly. “No reason for them, is there?”
She shook her head, though she was more uneasy than she supposed she should have been. She had obviously just been through too much over the past week and her nerves were shot. The thought of going home, though, and having to discuss the whole thing with her parents was enough to get on that last nerve she still had.
Derrick leaned back against the bench and looked at her. “Now, before we work on visa issues, what is it you want to do?”
“Well, my parents—”
“No,” he said firmly, “you. What is it you want to do?”
She frowned at him. “I think you’re trying to breed an insurrection.”
“I think you just found yourself with a great deal of money and a new camera. You’re in England, which isn’t as lovely as Scotland, but you’ll have to make do unless you venture north and see its wonders for yourself. You have the summer stretching out in front of you. What would you like to do?”
She hardly knew how to even begin to think about that. She looked out over the station, not seeing it, and tried to imagine what she would do if she could.
“I think I would like to see the Lake District,” she said, turning her head to look at him.
“A haven for artistic types, or so I understand.”
She smiled faintly. “Is that so?”
“Miss Potter would say so. I think she drew the occasional doodle for her books. And I believe that she invented the phrase all of the sudden, to her publisher’s horror, no doubt.”
Samantha smiled. “Then that’s where I’ll go, for all those reasons. But I should call my parents first.”
“Shoot them an email instead.” He handed her his tablet. “Less room for discussion that way.”
She looked at him quickly. “Password?”
“I believe, Miss Drummond, that you already know it.”
“I would have assumed you would have changed it already.”
He looked at her seriously. “I trusted that you wouldn’t reveal it.”
“That’s a lot of trust.”
He shrugged. “I don’t give it easily, believe me.”
She did. She also had quite a bit of experience with his computer, so she had no trouble writing an email to her parents telling them simply that she’d had a change of plans and would call them when she’d replaced her phone.
“You’re using my machine as if you’ve done so before,” Derrick grumbled at one point.
She smiled, because it was true, finished off her note, then handed him back his computer. “All yours.”
“My turn, then,” he said. “Let’s deal with your
tourist issues first.” He glanced upward, adjusted the angle of his screen, then got to work.
“I’m not sure I want to know how you can do this.”
“I’m not sure you do, either,” he said absently.
“Aren’t you afraid someone will hack you?”
“One of my partners does nothing all day but try. I pay him bonuses when he succeeds, though I’m not sure why. Very annoying.” He frowned briefly, then his expression lightened. “Visa done. Let’s look at a place to stay. What do you think of Ambleside?”
“Is it pretty?”
“So sweet you’ll be looking for lemons to counter the taste left in your mouth.”
“Not a fan of England, are you?”
He smiled briefly. “Actually, I’m quite fond of the Lake District, but nay, I’m a Scot through and through. I’m only in London because I must be. I’d rather be north of the border, thank you just the same.”
She suspected she might share that opinion, if she had the chance. “I don’t care. You choose.”
He scrolled thoughtfully through places to stay, then apparently decided on something. She fumbled in her bag for her debit card, but he shook his head.
“It’s on me.”
“But you don’t need to—”
“It’s on me,” he repeated firmly.
She frowned. “You’re very bossy.”
He looked at her briefly. “Could you consider it chivalry?”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered it before. Is this what it looks like?”
He laughed a little. “Well, I didn’t say I was any good at it.” He turned off his computer and put it back in his backpack. “Let’s go get you a ticket.”
“I can—”
“But you won’t.”
She blew her hair out of her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
He heaved himself to his feet and reached for her suitcase. “My finest quality. Let’s go.”
She trailed along after him for a bit but realized that he wasn’t going to put up with that for very long. She ended up standing next to him as he bought her a ticket, then walking with him as he got her to the right train track.
She wondered if she should make a list of the most uncomfortable situations she’d ever been in because at the moment, the comfort of rating her discomfort on some sort of list of things that made her uncomfortable might be the only thing that saved her. She supposed that standing next to a gorgeous man while trying to decide how to say good-bye fit neatly between her having insisted on wearing pantyhose to the first day of fourth grade—she had spent the whole day pulling them up and showing off her panties—and her first date as a junior in high school when she’d sent Ashton Marshall home with a bloody nose after he’d tried to kiss her and ended up leaving his retainer attached to her braces. Orthodontics, stockings, and guys, nightmares all.
She looked up at Derrick as the train pulled to a stop in front of him.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she began.
He shook his head. “No, I need to thank you. You were a tremendously good sport about many things.”
“I think I benefitted most,” she said. She smiled. “The earl did give me your fee, after all, which I need to give back to you—”
He shook his head and reached for her suitcase. He put it up into the train, then put his arm around her and hugged her quickly.
“Up you go, lass.” He smiled. “Enjoy your sketching.”
She stepped up onto the landing, looked at him one last time, then took her suitcase and went to look for somewhere to sit. She sat on the far side of the train where she wouldn’t have to look at him, because she just couldn’t look at him again. She stared out into the crowd and found it reassuringly free of anyone she recognized. She was, for the first time in her life, completely alone.
She was surprised at how much that bothered her.
• • •
The scenery on the trip west was more varied than she would have expected. She supposed out of all the things that had surprised her, that was the most startling. She could have spent a lifetime in England and never lacked for different things to draw.
She stared out the window and tried to make a mental list, now that she was back on her own and had all the time in the world to make every list she could stomach. She supposed the first one she should make was of all the final details that had been sewn up over the last twenty-four hours.
Derrick had offered to get her stuff from the Cookes, but she had begged him not to bother. Lydia could keep those yards of polyester fabric and acrylic knitted items. It made her a little nervous to leave her plane ticket behind, but since Derrick had so kindly provided her with another that was waiting for her at a travel agency in London when she decided to claim it, she supposed it was no great loss. She was free of thugs, free of commitments, and free to do anything she wanted to. Unfortunately, all that freedom left her with nothing to do but face the question that left her the most unsettled.
What in the world was she going to do with the rest of her life?
At least she could count on not being stalked by bad guys, working for crooks, or having to rely—at least for the meantime—on her parents. There was something to be said for being a woman of independent means. The first thing she was going to do was find a stationery store and buy a card so she could write Lord Epworth a thank-you. She might even doodle on the inside to truly show how deeply she’d been moved by his generosity.
She looked around her casually, on the pretext of checking out the scenery, and scoped out the people around her for anyone who looked suspicious. Just for something to do and because it made her feel sleuth-like. She could hardly claim to have Derrick-level skills, but she didn’t see anyone who looked like they shouldn’t have been on a train at that time of the morning. No thugs, no textile thieves, no good-looking Scots in disguise.
She settled back against her seat and supposed she had nothing to do but get on with her grand plans. She had the money to stay in England for the summer and live a life of leisure, though she imagined she would be staying on the cheap as often as possible. No sense in not hoarding what Lord Epworth had given her. But sketchbooks were reasonable and the scenery was free, so perhaps she would end up going home with a little something in her pocket.
By the time she’d taken a taxi up the way from the station in Windermere to her hotel in Ambleside, a hotel that wasn’t all that little and definitely wouldn’t be found on any budget lodging site, she was feeling fabulous. She had her life under her control in a way she had only imagined it might someday be as she’d first gotten off that train in Newcastle. She was going to step forward boldly, seizing the future by the lapels and demanding that it give her everything she asked for.
Which was obviously why she spent half an hour in her room, pacing and wondering what in the hell she was doing.
Being on her own was perhaps going to be slightly more unnerving than she’d suspected it would be.
She went into the bathroom, repaired her face with things Emily had thoughtfully provided her from a counter that Samantha never would have in her wildest dreams approached for even a sample, brushed and rebraided her hair, then took her good sense in hand. It was still early. She could go for a walk, soak up some local sights and smells, then go back to her room and make a serious list. But not before she’d had lunch and forced herself to stay outside for at least a couple of hours.
She realized later that it hadn’t been as hard as she’d feared. The shops were quaint, the weather good, and the surroundings extremely lovely. And the longer she walked, the more she decided that she was definitely better off without any overseas entanglements. She would spend the summer polishing up her artistic skills—and praying she had some—then she would go back home and put her foot down with her parents. Maybe by then she would have figured out a way to survive on something besides the charity and generosity of an old man who hadn’t been required to do anything for her.
The world w
as full of very good people.
It was also full of things that made her nervous.
She discovered that as she returned to her hotel after a lovely meal. She started to put her card key into her door only to find there was no need. It swung in without help. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and it was only good breeding—well, that and a lack of breath—that kept her from screaming her head off.
Damn. She shouldn’t have read all those mysteries on Derrick’s computer. She definitely shouldn’t have downloaded that creepy episode from The Twilight Zone simply as an act of rebellion against her parents who had insisted she limit herself to period pieces.
She reached inside and flicked on the light. She looked inside the room, then let out her breath slowly. No one was hiding behind the door. No one was sitting on her bed, waiting for her. No one was hiding behind the curtains. Her room looked as it should have.
Maybe she’d forgotten to lock the door.
She told herself she was imagining things. She continued to tell herself she was imagining things as she checked the bathroom, the wardrobe, under the bed, and out on the little balcony. There wasn’t anyone in the room.
But there was someone standing across the street.
He wasn’t looking up at her, but just the way he was standing was so utterly sinister, she could hardly stand the sight. She jumped back, drew the curtain, then sat down on the bed and reminded herself that there was no need to have a nervous breakdown. She had nothing anyone would want. The lace was back where it belonged. Surely not even retribution was worth following her all the way to Ambleside.
She unpacked her suitcase, checking every piece of clothing, looking in every nook and cranny for a stowaway of some kind. There was nothing she hadn’t expected except a pair of pearl earrings and a lovely necklace to match, but since there was a note from Emily attached, she didn’t think those were thug-worthy. She replaced everything with shaking hands.
She paused, then looked at her bag. She hadn’t emptied it, but there was nothing else inside it that shouldn’t have been there. She felt around inside it just to make sure. No, it was just full of her usual stuff. She sat on the edge of the bed and suppressed the urge to wring her hands.